Momentum
by Ko-chan to Ya-chan
Summary: It was nothing as clear cut as others made it out to be. It was as if, one day, it just was. There was no discussion, no confrontation, just quiet epiphany. Looking back, it was as if it always had been, and they’d simply never noticed. MakaxSoul drabbles


_A series of drabbles I thought up when imagining what Maka and Soul would be like as a serious couple. They're written at varying time periods in their lives, ranging from before they got together to years after they figured things out. Half of them are based on my own experiences._

_For any of the ones mentioning sex, it should be assumed that they are older (around 17-22 years old- I picture them as 19 and 21, myself), and have obviously been together for a while. I doubt there will be any gratuitous lemon, but I do mention things that happen before and during sex, though I don't go into much detail about the actual act._

_I tried to portray the characters to the best of my ability, especially the ease with which they interact with each other, but if anything strikes you as incredibly off, feel free to mention it in your review. This is my first time writing about them, so any pointers about their manga personalities (I've only seen the anime) would be greatly appreciated. Thank you._

_**Disclaimer:** Soul Eater is the intellectual property of Atsushi Okubo. I did not receive any royalties or payment for this piece._

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**Momentum**

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He wasn't sure when everything started.

It was nothing as clear cut as others made it out to be. It was as if, one day, it just was. There was no discussion, no confrontation, just quiet epiphany. Looking back, it was as if it always had been, and they'd simply never noticed.

Perhaps their souls had known from the beginning. Maybe their partnership had been based on more than simple happenstance. He didn't believe in fate, but for all he knew, she'd been pulling his strings all along.

He was surprised he hadn't noticed earlier. He should have felt it in the way her slim fingers molded to his body, wielding him with surprising strength and the gentlest caresses. In the way he'd tease her without really knowing why. He should have recognized that his desire to be "cool" stemmed from the warm, light feeling in his chest when she'd first clasped his hand and smiled.

Whatever it was—fate, chance, or something in between—he was grateful to have her as his own.

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She loved the way he put his arm around her when he slept.

At times, it was as if he were protecting her from the empty shadows of the room; warding away nightmares so long as her head lie gently on his shoulder. His arm would curl about her waist, holding her close long after he slipped into unconsciousness. She would watch him then, admiring the softness of his features in the light that filtered in through the slats of the closed blinds; trailing her fingers across the scar on his chest until she followed him into dreams.

At others, he would wind himself around her as she lay awake, reading. He nuzzled his face into her chest, throwing an arm across her stomach as his leg nestled itself between her own. It was one of the few times he relaxed his guard; seeming, for all his egotistic ways, a mere child in her arms. It made her feel extraordinarily privileged to witness that side of him, knowing that he needed her protection too, in his own way.

She felt safe in his arms, and it meant the world to her that he felt at peace in hers.

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He loved it when she let her hair down.

It wasn't often that she'd do it; sometimes he'd have to sneak in quietly to catch her at it. He'd come in and find her curled up on the couch in the living room, blankets wrapped around her like a cocoon, lost in a world of words.

Other times she'd stretch out on the bed after a shower, clad in nothing but a white towel; basking in the cool air as she felt the steam rise from her body. Her hair splayed out across the edge of the bed, dripping down onto the worn carpet.

It wasn't often that she did it, but she always remembered to before she joined him in bed.

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She remembered the first time he kissed her.

It wasn't awkward or premeditated; no cheesy music playing in the background as he dropped bad lines. She'd been reading on the couch with him as he watched T.V., enjoying the last hours of the day. As the regularly scheduled programming bled into reruns of Twilight Zone and infomercials, he'd rubbed his eyes and thumbed the off switch. He rose from the couch, yawning widely, and leaned down to kiss her forehead.

"Don't stay up too late." He chided, then padded down the hall to his bedroom.

It wasn't a real kiss—an on-the-mouth kiss, anyway—but through it, she could still feel his feelings for her. There was something about it that spoke volumes more than any conventional kiss she'd heard of; something that gently whispered of love unconditional.

She smiled to herself as she settled in that night, determined to return the favor when she woke him in the morning.

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He loved to listen to her voice.

Even when she rambled about things he couldn't care less about, he enjoyed the soothing melody of words as her voice rose and fell. Sometimes he would close his eyes and picture her voice as a shining light, dancing across his senses. Every now and then he would let his mind drift, and the light was joined by the faint, rumbling accompaniment of a grand piano. When he dozed during class, other voices joined in; flute, trumpet, violin, bass, and guitar playing an endless symphony of color behind closed eyes. Hers was always the most radiant.

He followed along, even when she thought he wasn't listening.

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She loved to touch him.

Every chance she had, she'd find some way to keep in contact with his body: holding hands, leaning on his shoulder, or nudging his feet with her bare toes beneath the kitchen table. Even when they sat apart on the couch, she would stretch her legs across his lap as she read, or warm her feet beneath his bum.

The times she couldn't, she found herself seeking him out; striding across the room to glide her fingers over his bare arms for no other reason than to feel his skin beneath her own.

This oddity annoyed him to no end, as she would often do so when he was concentrating on a game or T.V. show, causing him to pause and ask her what she wanted. Each time, she shrugged at him and smiled as she walked away.

One day, he caught her hand and demanded an explanation for interrupting him all the time for no apparent reason. Her cheeks flushed as he gazed at her with those ruby eyes, igniting a nervous fluttering in her chest.

After a moment of silent fidgeting, she managed to shyly squeak out a reply.

"I…I just wanna touch you, that's all."

Instead of being angry with her nonsense explanation, he threw back his head and laughed, pulling her down onto his lap. He ruffled her hair, chuckling as her nose scrunched up in distaste, and kissed her forehead.

"Stupid. You should've just told me so in the first place."

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He hated when she put on make up.

"It makes you look trashy." He complained, folding his arms as he leaned against the doorframe.

Her mouth twitched almost imperceptibly as she struggled against a scowl, continuing to smooth the pink satin color on her lips. "I don't care. It makes me feel pretty."

"You're always pretty."

She rolled her eyes. "No, I'm not. My face isn't soft and elegant like Tsubaki's, and I don't have the figure or the guts to wear the things that Blair or the Thompsons do."

She glared over her shoulder accusingly. "You even have longer lashes than I do! How is that fair?"

Shaking her head, she returned to the mirror. "I'm not pretty, and this is the only way I can even compete."

He sighed, striding into the room and embracing her from behind. He buried his head in the nape of her neck, inhaling the faint scent of vanilla and green tea that clung to her milk white skin.

"I don't know how you got the idea into your head, but I'd pick you every time- no contest."

She squirmed a little, resting her head against his as she gazed at their reflection. "Yeah, but…"

"But, nothing. You're beautiful to me- isn't that what matters?"

She smiled, leaning into his arms. "I guess so."

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She remembered the time he fell off the bed during foreplay.

He'd been straddling her, sliding his fingers across her bare stomach and up beneath her bra, teasing her as he leaned over to grab a condom from the dresser drawer. The drawer handle remained just out of reach. Frowning, he'd removed his other hand from her breast, bracing himself on her knee as he leaned further. His fingers had brushed up against the foil packaging half a second before he lost it, pitching to the side and onto the floor.

She burst out laughing, gasping out apologies between fits of giggling, and asked him if he'd hurt himself.

He grimaced, tearing the perforation and tossing the rest back inside the drawer as he picked himself up. "Ugh. Just my pride… so not cool…"

Having successfully ruined the mood, he set aside his prize and returned to his ministrations, trailing feather light kisses down her stomach. As he neared her hips, she squirmed beneath him.

"Ah! T-that… that t-tickles!"

He tried again, pressing his lips a bit harder against her skin.

Her slender frame writhed and trembled as she struggled to suppress another fit of laughter. "Eeek! S-stop it!"

He tried again. This time she reacted before his lips touched her skin. He sat up, crossing his arms as he scowled down at her.

"Would you just stop already? How am I supposed to do this with you laughing like that?"

She bit her lip, failing miserably to contain her mirth. "I'm sorry! I c-can't help it! It's just… you… you… pffft…"

She broke down as another wave overcame her. Every time she closed her eyes, she pictured the look on his face as he toppled over.

"Fine. See if I try to be nice to you anymore." He huffed, darting forward to reclaim the condom on the windowsill above her head.

He shoved her legs to either side of himself, roughly removing her strawberry print panties and tossing them over his shoulder along with his boxers. He leaned forward and undid the clasp of her bra, tearing open the package with his teeth and applying it with the other hand.

He entered her a little more roughly than usual, though he made sure it wasn't enough to really hurt her—just enough to get back at her. She giggled throughout, in small, sporadic bursts, but eventually subsided enough to enjoy herself toward the end. As they lay together, all afterglow, the giggling returned.

"Che. It wasn't that funny, you know." He gave her a small thrust, causing her to squeak.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, smacking him lightly on the head. "And yes, it was."

They stared into each other's eyes and dissolved into hysterics.

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_To be continued...? I have no idea._


End file.
